


deadly fever, please don't ever break

by escargotforit



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathroom Control, Can Tag For More As Needed, Cheating, Cis Elias Bouchard, Cis Martin Blackwood, Cock Addiction, Corruption, Cuckolding, Dubious Consent, Elias Enjoys Himself Immensely, Eventual Toxic Polycule, Exhibitionism, Humiliation kink, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Jon Is Not Satisfied With Martin In The Bedroom, Loss of Control, M/M, Martin Has A Very Bad Time, Multi, Not SSC-Compliant, Omorashi, Piss kink, Shame kink, Trans Jonathan Sims, Vaginal Penetration, Vaginal Sex, anal penetration, nonconsensual acts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-27 23:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30130695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escargotforit/pseuds/escargotforit
Summary: Jon tentatively enters a relationship with Martin, who thinks he'll be able to take care of Jon, but of course Elias knows better. Eliasalwaysknows better.Set nebulously in S1.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonah Magnus/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a concept by @byzant9ne on twitter about Jon cucking Martin with Elias. The original thread has been lost to time, but hopefully you can imagine what was in it based on the tags of this fic! The piss kink, however, is my own special sauce.
> 
> On that note, please mind the tags and only read if you feel comfortable with extremely dark content. It's unclear if I'll end up using the concept's original bad end, in which Martin ends up knowing about the affair and helplessly enjoying being a cuckold, or if I'll take it in a more positive direction, but be aware that he's not going to have a very good time (and honestly, neither is Jon, other than the mind-blowing orgasms).
> 
> I'm getting back into the swing of longfic, so wordcount may vary wildly from chapter to chapter!
> 
> Title taken from "my strange addiction" by Billie Eilish. Terms used for Jon include cock, cunt, tits, folds, wet, slick, and breasts, and he is pre-top and pre-bottom surgery. While he is still asexual in this fic, he experiences powerful spikes in arousal at certain activities, masturbates, and engages in/enjoys sex with certain people.

It’s an hour past the traditional end of the workday, and Jon is right where he should be -- across from Elias, slightly rumpled, gorgeous. Elias, pressed and proper and patient, watches him as he stares down the paper, the gilded pen. The phrases “employee relationship” and “admission of liability” are printed in several places, and Elias knows that Jon lingers on them, his tongue working overtime in his mouth as he struggles not to gulp. He turns a page, then the next. Lets them flutter back down.

A few moments have passed since Elias presented them, and while Jon isn’t the fastest reader, they both know the reason he’s looking them over so intently is not an issue of comprehension. When he looks up again, almost helplessly, his eyes are caught in Elias’ cool grey gaze.

“I don’t...”

“You do.”

“But I’m not -- ”

“They’re necessary forms, Jon,” Elias points out, redundant. He affects gentle disappointment, a fatherly air. “You do know that fraternization is frowned upon at the Institute, yes? I would have thought you’d come directly to me if there were any chance that you and Martin might...”

“I didn’t.” And Jon’s voice is nicely apologetic, his eyes flicking from the forms back up to Elias and back down again. Good. He’s not even trying to deny it, the expression of guilt it would be to put his name on these papers. A permanent mark on his employee record. “I really didn’t, Elias. It came out of nowhere, honestly, and I don’t even know if it will become something requiring paperwork.”

“Oh, Jon.” A light sigh. “You should know that Martin is very plainly in love with you. Has been since he first saw you, in fact, if you believe the gossip in the Library department. And you did go back and forth quite often before you were promoted, so you can imagine.” He slides the pen over with all the weight of a guillotine being hung. “If you choose to indulge him in this regard, I can only imagine it will grow to be something quite serious. After all, it’s not like I don’t understand that you have a certain curiosity about being taken care of.” Jon’s cheeks darken. “You may even have feelings for him already, or they’re just bubbling under the surface. Who’s to say?”

“Well, I -- ” Jon doesn’t confirm or deny, simply looks at the pen. Swallows. “I don’t -- it will be kept strictly to off-hours. Nothing public, not in the office.”

“I understand. But it is policy.” Elias shrugs. “Regardless of whether or not I approve, Jon, this needs to be documented. There is footage of the confession, and you’ve told me all I need to know about your plans moving forward with your body language.”

Jon swallows again, and Elias relishes his discomfort as he picks up the pen. A neat scrawl -- his signature there, there, and there. He places the pen back down.

“Wonderful.” Elias’ smile is gentle as he folds his hands before him on the desk. “You see? That wasn’t very hard at all. Although -- now that we have the papers, Jon, I must confess to a personal concern regarding the relationship.”

Jon opens his mouth, closes it. Elias Knows he’s torn about telling Elias that it’s none of his business, but there’s too much respect there to speak it outright. Too much fear about his position, about the disapproval Elias has already made quietly clear, and then there’s the curiosity about what exactly the concern is. There’s only so much Elias knows about Jon.

Right?

Jon chews the inside of his cheek -- his lovely dark cheek -- and clears his throat as he shifts across from Elias. “What kind of concern?”

“Why, Jon, it’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m just trying to look out for your best interests, of course, and anything we say in this room is confidential.” Pulling the pen back into his hands, Elias strokes the barrel. “I just worry about the emotional toll it will take on you to confess to your urinary issues when Martin already has so much to handle.”

Just like that, Jon stiffens in his chair, and Elias stiffens as well -- albeit in a different manner. The rush of fear that comes from his Archivist tastes like honey and blood, and it lingers at the back of his tongue like wine.

“How -- ”

“An open secret, if you know where to look,” replies Elias airily. He continues stroking the pen, up and down, tips of his fingers tingling. “The changes of clothes throughout the day, the rather frantic reassurances you needed from Rosie that, yes, we do have bathrooms in the basement, although it seems as though they don’t seem to work nearly as often as you need them to. And poor Martin only keeps bringing you tea, like it helps when you’re already squirming whenever the door is closed.”

“I -- ”

“Come now, Jon, do you really think I wouldn’t pay attention to every aspect of my employees’ health, even the things they find embarrassing?” Elias finally puts down the pen, luxuriating in the way his speech makes Jon’s cheeks flare brighter than anything _Martin_ could ever do to him. He doesn’t need to Know that the embarrassment is already making Jon slick, his thighs rubbing together as he is vividly reminded of the pressure on his lower belly. The holds he will go through on his own, to save face first and shamefully, painfully enjoy the release later, when it hurts too much not to go. Jon’s eyes flicker back and forth between Elias and the path to the door, like a frightened cat, ready to spring away at any moment.

Elias is faster, though. Smarter. Before Jon can stammer out an excuse to leave, to accuse Elias of wrongdoing, he stands up and places his hand, grounding and steady, on Jon’s shoulder. It tenses under his palm.

“Like I said, it can stay between us,” murmurs Elias. “Any and all of it. You needn’t even worry about Martin finding out.” There’s a but here, a stipulation, and Jon knows it. “That said, I would like to be your confidante. If you feel the need to...indulge...in this sort of thing, you can always come to me.” He gives Jon a gentle pat. “I won’t judge you. Not the way Martin might.”

Jon stays strong for a long moment, still tensed, before the shoulder relaxes a minute amount. “Just for this?” And his voice is small, vulnerable. Still afraid. “You’re sure?”

“Of course.” Elias enjoys the way the lie slips through his teeth like smoke. “And Martin can have the rest of your attention, of course. Your affection is all his. I just want to make sure you’re fully satisfied in this regard without putting undue stress on him.”

Jon takes a quick, sharp breath. Another. He lets them go, and his shoulder slumps. “...All right.”

“Good boy,” says Elias, a little under his breath, but he catches the way Jon’s thighs press together all the same.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon tries to resist, but Elias is always watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some actual smut for all of you! Let's hope Jon gives in sooner rather than later.

It starts small.

Jon tries to resist, of course, because he never was very good at letting himself have things. He still smiles at Martin when he fusses over Jon’s condition, wondering why he looks so wan and tired the day after his meeting with Elias. Elias is aware that Martin doesn’t trust him, but Jon assures him that the two concepts are not related -- and Martin nods, trusts Jon instead, brings him the strongest, most caffeinated blends he can dig up from the break room cabinet.

It would be charming if it weren’t so depraved, thinks Elias, watching Jon squirm as Martin presses yet another mug into his hands, citing his lack of hydration as a possible cause of exhaustion. Jon sips at the hot tea, thanks Martin with a blush that is mirrored on the larger man’s face, and when the door closes --

Well, Elias would have lingered on it regardless of Jon’s racing thoughts, but it helps to know that both of them are thinking of the same thing. 

Elias’ smile, Elias’ hand on Jon’s body, cool and sure and possessive. He’d gone home in a daze, still wet from the encounter when he unlocked the door to his flat, when he stripped off his workwear and sat dumbly at his kitchen table with a glass of water in his trembling hand. He’d drunk it fast, then another, then another, anxious to chase the hot curl of arousal in his stomach, ashamed of it. He hadn’t felt this way in years, and never with another person; the pressure grew as his arousal did, his hand finding itself lodged firmly between his legs as the heat built a home in him, his thoughts fixated on the casual way Elias had offered his assistance.

Before long, he’d begin to soak through the thin material of his briefs, and the steady pulse of liquid pooling in his lower belly was too insistent to ignore. He hauled himself from the chair, running water over the glass -- the rush of it, hot and fast, smooth against his fingers -- and set it aside to dry, heading for his bathroom, stripping off his undershirt, his binder. Elias had done the same, to a smaller extent; his erection was already substantial when he pulled it from his open fly, and he curled a loose fist around it as he waited for the show to begin.

Most people did not keep their collection of marital aids with their toiletries, but Jon hardly had company over to begin with, and keeping them in the brightly colored baskets seemed easier than moving them back and forth from his bedroom or closet. He fumbled with one of them now, pulling out one of the stronger bullets he owned and hoping that he’d managed to keep it charged, almost sighing with relief as it buzzed to life in his palm. A few other things came along: a vibrator the width of three of his fingers, a wand to use if the bullet got away from him, a bottle of lubricant. He’d hoped it would be enough.

There wasn’t much in the way of space, but the square floor of the shower stall had just enough room for him to sit in a far corner, his legs spread. The briefs stayed on, much to Elias’ delight, because the way his slick spread through it was of particular aesthetic attraction to Jon, and his collection was spread out to his side as he pressed the bullet to the swollen bump of his cock through the sticky fabric. His hand flew up to his mouth as he groaned, his eyelashes fluttering as the shockwaves pulsed through him -- but he couldn’t let go, he wasn’t as desperate as he could be, and the thought occurred to him that if he were to take Elias up on his offer that he’d need to do  _ better. _

It came with a certain guilt, of course. Elias had watched Jon rub the small oblong casing over himself from arse to cock, suppressing the buck of his hips as he keened, wondering what Martin would think of him like this. Small, pathetic, moaning sluttishly with a full bladder and just waiting for the moment he would embarrass himself. He wondered what Martin’s face would look like distorted with disgust, and felt another wave of heat roll through him as he imagined Elias coolly taking up Martin’s position, kneeling before Jon and pressing the bullet more insistently into his body.

Elias wouldn’t judge, Jon had thought. His eyes were shut, but visions of Elias smiling at him, condescending to him for his transgressions, flickered obscenely over the inside of his lids. He would understand, he already knew what Jon was, and in the fantasy he only encouraged Jon to get wetter, harder, mocking him in that velvet tone for having drunk so much in the first place.

Small bladder, lack of control, perhaps even a lack of ability. Elias would call Jon out gently, easily, pinpointing every little thing wrong with him as his fingers worked Jon over, and Jon thought about the way he wouldn’t be allowed to cover his mouth, admitting to the fact that he enjoyed every moment of it. His other hand came away as he moaned, loud and wanton at the feeling of another insistent throb deep in his belly, and he managed to orgasm for the first time without so much as a spurt.

It wasn’t enough. Jon knew it, Elias Knew it. He’d used the relative clarity of the afterglow to struggle out of his thoroughly slick briefs, exposing himself for the Elias in his mind, swollen and wet. Elias would spread him open, Jon had thought, run teasing fingers over his folds and cock and give him a small amount of praise for the trouble. Something about impressing him. Something about holding out.

Jon’s breaths went shaky as he imagined Elias setting aside the bullet, telling Jon he knew exactly what he needed to let go, and Jon’s eyes were shut as he felt for the wand, for the vibrator. His thoughts were hazy -- mixed between the idea that Elias was going to use his own cock on Jon, or that the vibrator was simply that -- but what he did know was that he didn’t need the lubricant as the vibrator slipped in, first a centimeter or two, then all at once. It, alongside the wand, was turned on, and Jon sobbed as he miscalculated, feeling the first traitorous splash of piss leave his body as he pressed the wand hard against his cock.

In his mind, Elias had tutted, turning up the vibrations on both to a mind-meltingly high setting as Jon spasmed and jerked against both toys. His legs struggled to stay open as he continued to cry, high broken whimpers dropping from his lips as he wheezed out Elias’ name like a prayer, begging for his mercy even as one hand moved to thrust the toy in and out of his soaking cunt as quickly as possible.

He came, and came, and came. Jon hadn’t the mind nor the ability to count how many, when they started, how they ended. All he knew was the quiet buzzing between his legs as the aftershocks rolled through him, making him twitch. He turned them off as he slumped against the wall, listening to the sheer volume of what he’d held dripping down the drain, and realized with dismay that he  _ still  _ wasn’t finished.

The night had ended with Jon lying awake in bed, a scalding shower making his skin prickle under new clothes. The shame of it made his blood run hot, his lower belly still aching from the hold and subsequent release and orgasms -- that hadn’t been the first time he’d fantasized about Elias, but he thought those thoughts would fade with his burgeoning affection for Martin. Large, dark eyes, already ringed with the circles that would haunt him in the morning, closed for a moment as he had tried to envision Martin where Elias stood, and found that he just couldn’t. Martin was large, and soft, and unthreatening. Martin had more to deal with than this horrific urge of Jon’s.

The point was, Martin wasn’t Elias.

Elias had tried to console him, at the very least. His Archivist needed  _ some _ sleep, after all, or he would never get any statements read, instead collapsing on his desk in a heap of exhausted limbs. So he had the bubble of a hopeful thought rise into Jon’s mind, something about the fact that new partners rarely knew how good the sex was until they actually had it, and Jon had taken a deep breath and nodded to himself.  _ Martin will be able to satisfy me when the time comes. _

The time stated was never specified, of course, but there was a measure of assuredness to the thought. Thinking about Elias wouldn’t affect the way Jon treated Martin, they hadn’t even kissed yet, much less talked about having sex; Jon was aware that he came off cold at the best of times, and maybe Martin wouldn’t even touch him out of consideration. Jon was free to spend his alone time being alone, and nobody would have to know.

Elias had watched Jon drift off after that, his main worry assuaged, and had tucked his spent cock back into his slacks as he glanced at the clock. He would have time to return to his own home for a quick shower and a change of clothes before beginning another day, the morning to which he now watches his Archivist squirm and drink his new boyfriend’s tea, knowing his next hold, his next orgasm, will still belong to Elias.

Elias doesn’t mind the wait. He’s waited longer for less. He smiles to himself, gets back to his work, and anticipates a familiar, timid knock at his door.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at @escargotforit on twitter ;)


End file.
